


I Know Why (And So Do You)

by howler32557038



Category: Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom Bucky Barnes, Bottom Steve Rogers, Dancing, Frottage, Gift Exchange, Hand Jobs, M/M, Outdoor Sex, PWP without Porn, Past Torture, Riding, Romance, Sharing Body Heat, Smoking, Switching, Tent Sex, Top Bucky Barnes, Top Steve Rogers, Wartime Romance, World War II, sharing cigarettes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-01
Updated: 2016-07-12
Packaged: 2018-07-19 09:51:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7356238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/howler32557038/pseuds/howler32557038
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Captain Rogers and Sergeant Barnes finish their op in France a whole day ahead of schedule. With nothing to do but wait until the rest of the Commandos hit their rendezvous point, they pitch camp on the France-Italy border and try to make the most of their stolen time alone in the countryside.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Saint-Véran, Friday Evening

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lynnwrites](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lynnwrites/gifts).



> Fic trade with my dear friend, Lynn, in three parts, each progressively filthier than the last.

As far as recon operations go, this one has been strikingly _\- blessedly -_ uneventful. Steve feels a twinge of paranoia; he can’t help but find it strange to comb a thirty square mile region and for once, find no sign of Hydra or a single trace of enemy presence. He hopes the other Commandos have been just as lucky in their quadrants. Then again, he also rather hopes they found something worthwhile because otherwise, they’ll all have wasted a whole week sweeping a region that’s deserted, although he knows it’s damn well better to be safe than sorry.

And in yet another odd but welcome turn, the weather has been uncharacteristically fair for December. Before they’d split off from the rest of the Howlies, they’d had to wait out a violent snowstorm back at base, but now it’s as if the sky is apologizing for its earlier behavior. It had snowed a bit on their first day out, but they’d been a few miles deeper into the mountains then. For the remainder of their trek, they’d stayed in the southern shadow of the Alps and had enjoyed brilliantly cloudless crystal blue skies. The terrain was wet and muddy, of course - the mountains were flooding all the gulleys with runoff as the snow melted, but it wasn’t too hard to traverse. By midday, the sunshine was usually warm enough to make them shed their jackets as they hiked. The wind that had seemed so harsh and biting the week before is now a relief as it whips through their hair and cools their flushed cheeks.

Steve follows the Commandos’ unspoken rule and doesn’t mention their lucky circumstances to Bucky. They’re both well aware of their fortune without making small talk over it, and doing so has been known to break the spell and turn the mountains’ good will against them. The most their superstition will allow them to chance is the exchange of a few happy, knowing smiles each morning when they break camp to the sound of birdsong with the promise of a mild, gentle sun already creeping over the mountaintops.

Steve halts his march at the edge of a deep trench when he notices that Bucky’s footsteps have grown quiet behind him. He never does realize when he’s outpacing his friend, likely since he’s gone most of his life struggling to keep up with Bucky’s long-legged stride. Now they’ve got it the other way round. He turns to find him lagging behind, walking absently, his steps meandering over the rocky hillocks as he studies his map of the region, struggling to juggle the billowing paper and his compass as his rifle begins to slip off his shoulder. Good thing he’s already checking that old map, too, since the bottom of this trench is flooded, and they’ll need to work their way around it.

“You get us lost, Sarge?” Steve smirks, using his most official _Captain_ tone and adding a bite of mock accusation.

Bucky huffs around a lopsided grin and gives a little shake of his head. “Wish _you’d_ get lost,” he calls back. “Why’d you stop? Was I moving too slow for you again?”

“Yeah, you were,” Steve counters with empty challenge, then tips his head down toward the gulley. “This one’s flooded, too. You see a way around?”

Bucky rotates the map a few different directions, frowning. He doesn’t look much like a trustworthy guide, but he hasn’t lead them astray yet, so Steve lets him figure it out without a snide comment to distract him. “Uh,” Bucky clears his throat and squints, still stalling as he traces his finger over the map’s miniscule print. “Actually, yeah, there is. If we follow this trench here about two miles south, we ought to hit a bridge. We’ll need to work our way back into the foothills after that, though. Cut around this marsh…” he trails off, pointing away south-east to a flat patch of land that’s riddled with muddy pools. Even those seem to shimmer dusty gold in the evening light.

Steve nods in acquiescence, deferring to Bucky’s sound judgment, and sets off southward. Bucky breaks into a jog to close the distance between them, stowing his compass on his belt and wrestling the map back into its neat folds. “Where are we now, anyhow?” Steve asks.

“France.”

“Hilarious.”

“See, I was going to mention, Stevie,” Bucky elaborates, tapping the back of his hand against Steve’s shoulder. “We covered everything in our quadrant, yeah? We’re in Saint-Véran, now,” he says, butchering the French so innocently that Steve can’t hold back a smile. “Already scouted the whole length of the Durance, got all the way down to Saint-Vincent-les-Forts on that first night...I mean, we’re five miles from the border and only about seven from our rendezvous in Chianale.”

“Yeah?” Steve prompts, narrowing his eyes against the yellow evening sun. From their vantage point here on a crest of the foothills, he can just make out the bridge up ahead. The path looks pretty clear between here and there. They ought to arrive at the crossing in twenty minutes, if Buck doesn’t ask him to slow down.

“Well, it’s only Friday evening, right? And we’re only seven miles out. That puts us a day ahead of schedule.”

“Golly,” Steve chuckles. “Friday. So it is. We made good time, huh?”

Steve glances back over his shoulder just in time to catch Bucky rolling his eyes. “Yeah, and me running the whole fuckin’ way, trying to keep pace with those new gams of yours, you big bastard,” he gripes. “Might be dangerous once we cross that border, though. Once we’re in Italy, I’d say it’d be best to keep on stepping. We ought to set up camp tonight and wait a day. That way, when we head into town, at least our boys will be there.”

“We still good on food and water?” Steve questions, although he’s already feeling a little giddy in spite of his compulsion to check supplies.

“Plenty good,” Bucky assures him. “I should know, I’m lugging it.”

“Oh, I’m lugging all the heavy stuff,” Steve reminds him. “So. A day to ourselves, huh? Nothing to do but wait?”

“Can’t see much else there is _to_ do,” Bucky sighs. “Wait and get a little extra kip...you could be a doll and mend up this jacket sleeve for me before the rip gets any worse. I could make a trap tonight, set it up by those marshes, see if I can’t catch us something for breakfast? I would just take my rifle out early, but I don’t know...probably no good to go firing shots so close to that border. Might get unwanted visitors.”

“Yeah, trapping sounds like the safer option,” Steve agrees distractedly. “And that’s all you want to do? I mean - sleep in, eat, get your sleeve fixed up...twiddle our thumbs? No, um, ha,” Steve stumbles on a slick patch, which does very little to conceal his stutter. “No other ideas?” he finally asks.

“You flirting with me, sweetheart?”

“Oh, good, I’m glad you caught that.”

“Only because I know how shit you are at it,” Bucky razzes him.

Steve flushes red and quickens his gait, putting a few extra strides between them so that Bucky won’t see his embarrassment. “Hey, I’m working on it, alright?”

“Don’t work on it,” Bucky orders with a smile coloring his voice. “Don’t you ever court me any other way, doll. It’s sweet.”

And Steve suddenly doesn’t care if Bucky sees his hot cheeks and pink ears. He just wants his guy on his arm. He hangs back for a moment, letting him catch up, and once they’re hip to hip he falls in-step with him so he can lay a hand on the back of Bucky’s neck, fingers delving past the jacket collar to press against his skin. “Okay, Sarge,” he grins and pulls him in close. “Looks like we got ourselves a plan.”


	2. Fireside, Friday Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Staying warm shouldn't be a problem.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoo! Crazy couple of days. Mom's birthday, tons of laundry, and I started a real-life fight with a bigoted asshole ON THE FOURTH OF JULY.
> 
> HAPPY BIRTHDAY, CAPTAIN AMERICA.

They get their camp assembled by the time the sun dips below the encircling mountains, and Bucky’s awfully happy for that. Once that daylight is gone, all that melting snow makes a thick fog that rolls down off the slopes so fast his eye can hardly track it. Every night, it pools in the valley around them until he can hardly see the compass needle for guidance, and it blankets the foothills until the morning sun drives it away, leaving behind a frozen sheen of dew on the leaves.

Bucky sets up the better part of the camp, as usual, laying down a roll of canvas to keep their backs out of the mud and lining up their shelter halves to give them a little more legroom. He doubles up their bedrolls to make the ground feel a bit softer and combines their stocks of woolen blankets, then sets up their mess kit just outside, unloading enough food for the both of them - they’ve got corned beef, biscuits and Carter’s spread left in their m-rations, and enough soluble coffee and luncheon meat to get them through the day tomorrow.

In the meantime, Steve treks on toward the border to gather wood from a little cluster of coppices he’d spotted earlier. When he returns, two big bundles of sticks lashed under each arm, they manage to start a good fire. It’s mostly mountain softwood and won’t burn through the night or make much of a coalbed, but it gets their dinner hot and they can spend the rest of their night under the blankets and out of the wind. They eat quickly and don't make much conversation, but they sit close, leaning into each other's warmth. Words have become less important over their long months in the field. Instead, they allow their bodies' contact to speak volumes.

They drag their mountain rucksacks into the shelter and use them to weigh down the canvas walls, blocking the draft, light up the battered Coleman, and lash the entrance closed. Now that their bellies are full and their tent is flooded with light, they feel warm enough to shed their clothes and crawl into the bedroll. Steve radiates an incredible warmth that has Bucky’s chilled skin tingling back to life in minutes. Outside, the fire is still burning, its flames just visible over the glow of their lantern. The only part of Bucky’s body that’s still cold are his feet, which had spent the day in damp socks, and he slides them in between Steve’s calves with a contented grin. Steve cringes, but he doesn’t pull away or say a word. He seems to understand that Bucky’s only collecting on what he’s damn well owed.

Steve rubs his hands together under the covers, letting the friction heat up his palms before he reaches out to touch Bucky’s side and pull him close. Bucky lets a soft, low laugh slip into the air between them as their foreheads bump and their naked chests press flush against each other, the chains of their tags tangling with a sharp jingle that cuts through the heavy silence.

“Pretty sure this goes against Army regs, Captain,” Bucky whispers, fingers brushing against Steve’s collarbone.

“Major conflict of interest, too,  _ Sergeant,”  _ Steve replies teasingly.

Their noses brush as Steve’s hands snake around to cradle the small of Bucky’s back. Bucky’s fingers trail purposefully from Steve’s shoulder and down his arm and side, coming to rest on his hip. “Guess you’re going to need to write me up, then.”

“Don’t think I won’t,” Steve breathes, just in time for Bucky to kiss away his smirk.

A spark dances down Bucky’s nerve-endings, bolts of lightning and thunderclaps that echo from the tip of his tongue to his heart to his pit of his stomach. He catches Steve’s tongue gently between his teeth, slowing his hungry pace, and traces his thumb inward along the groove of Steve’s Adonis belt. He groans when he feels the still-unfamiliar definition of Steve’s abdomen and stops to smooth his palm over the curvatures of muscle and taut skin, touching the length of his torso until his fingertips hit the swell of his chest. Bucky has to open his eyes to convince himself that this is still  _ his Steve _ he’s touching. He breaks the kiss, lungs burning, to have a long look at Steve’s face.

“Moving too fast?” Steve asks, rueful and nervous.

Bucky is quick to shake his head. “No...it’s just...I’m still getting used to - well, look, Stevie, you’re huge, now. And so healthy! But  _ I’m  _ the little one.”

“Probably just feels like that because you got used to seeing me the other way, Buck. We’re about the same size, now,” he lies, almost making it sound effortless. His eyes suddenly take on a familiar glint as he’s struck by an idea. “Hey, you know, I was thinking. Back before...this--before the serum, I couldn’t really, you know,  _ catch,”  _ he chuckles. _ “ _ Hurt too bad every time we tried it.”

Bucky momentarily re-lives the regretful memory of one such attempt, when he’d made Steve bleed. He cringes, but there’s already a hint of giddy anticipation in his voice when he answers. “Yeah.”

“Well, I was thinking that we ought to try again.”

Bucky struggles to quell his excitement and make his tone even. “If you’re up to it.”

“Been thinking about it all day, actually,” Steve admits with a sheepish smile. “You look so good. That new jacket suits you.”

And before Bucky can acknowledge the compliment, Steve’s warm grip encircles his cock, tempting him with two slow, feather-light strokes. He feels himself swell up in Steve’s hand. He takes hold of Steve’s with a wicked grin and mimics the teasing movement, making Steve’s hips stutter forward so that their their knuckles brush, then nudges Steve’s hand away so that he can circle his fingers around them both, pressing their cocks together with a squeeze that’s almost rough. He almost panics when Steve tips his head back and groans, before he remembers that they’re totally alone - which means he can work Steve over until he’s shouting nonsense at the top of his lungs, and it won’t be anybody’s business but their own. That’s a privilege they’ve never had in their whole lives. He wants to take advantage of it - really hear Steve come apart at the seams.

He thrusts forward against him, holding Steve’s stiff cock in place and letting the head of his own slide along the underside of the shaft, and then presses closer until Steve’s cock is trapped between their bodies. He grinds into the crest of Steve’s hip, bringing himself to full hardness as he he draws their bodies together with an insistent hand on the back of Steve’s  _ (oh, God--thick, beautiful) _ thigh, and Steve moves in tandem with him. Almost like being sixteen again - and yet it feels so _ , so _ different now. The air under the blankets suddenly feels humid and stiflingly hot, but Bucky doesn’t mind being overheated for a change. There’s sweat beading on both of their chests, and their skin is slick where their bodies connect.

He pulls away only because he  _ has to _ . It’s either that or deal with the embarrassment of finishing after nothing but a few minutes of foreplay. But it’s high-time to move on--they’re both breathless and eager, and when Bucky shoves Steve away and reaches for his rucksack, Steve doesn’t fight him. He rifles through his gear urgently until he finds a nearly full tin of White Rose petroleum jelly - he’d paid some other girl scout back at the base a whole thirty-five cents for the thing, and it was worth every penny.

They pull the covers back over their shoulders and Bucky settles back in. Steve turns over to lie on his side and pulls up his knee, not a hint of shame in the pink flush of his cheeks as reaches back to slide a finger into the crease of his own ass - in fact, Bucky catches him smiling while he touches himself, like he _ knows _ what he’s got to be doing to his guy, behaving like that.

But the heavy blankets don’t afford Bucky much of a view of the action (oh, but if they did, he’d watch all night) so he gives Steve’s foot a gentle kick. “Move it,” he scolds, dipping into the tin with his first and second fingers and coming away with more than he could possibly need. He’s not taking any chances - he doesn’t want this to end in mumbled apologies and awkward chuckles this time, he wants to make it  _ perfect _ for Steve. If it costs him ten cents worth of a thirty five cent tin of slick to do that, then so be it.

Steve obliges instantly, and instead moves to spread himself open, gripping the swell of his ass in one hand, his whole body just begging to be fucked. Bucky goes slow, spreading the stuff over Steve and over his own fingers and not doing much but touching for a few minutes, until Steve’s back arches and his breathing gets heavy and low.

Back in Brooklyn, when they’d first tried this out, it had been a nervous affair from the start, and Steve had winced and broken a sweat with just one finger inside him. Now it doesn’t seem to do much but make him impatient for more. Bucky tries to work it in slow, but Steve pushes back against him and takes it right up to the last knuckle, brooking no argument. By the time a second and third finger have been met with the same hungry enthusiasm, Bucky shaking his head and there’s a grin of disbelief on his face. He’d write a thank you note to the US government for this serum stuff, if it wouldn’t land him a dishonorable discharge.

There’s still more than enough on his hand to slick up his cock. He strokes himself twice, carefully, trying not to push himself too much closer to finishing. He presses his chest to Steve’s back, aligning their bodies, kissing at the nape of his neck as he steadies himself and starts to push in.

Steve’s brow furrows and his face looks hot and the muscle of his jaw stands out as he grits his teeth, but it sure as hell doesn’t look like pain. “Need a minute?” Bucky asks anyway.

“No, I need you to stop playing around,” Steve growls, reaching back to grip Bucky’s hip demandingly and pull him closer. Bucky sinks in another inch and nearly loses his mind, but he takes the hint. Steve’s fine. Hell, he probably couldn’t hurt him if he tried. He holds his breath as Steve sighs, and he slides into him like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

Bucky makes damn sure that Steve can’t accuse him of playing around again - he barely gives him the space of a moment before pulls out right to the tip of his cock, pushes Steve’s shoulders forward, and thrusts into him like he means it. Steve moans so loud that Bucky wonders if they heard it over in Italy and slams his fist onto the canvas-covered ground, rocking back against the cock inside of him.  _ Looks like we’ve both been missing out, _ Bucky can’t help but think. He hooks his hand into the crook of Steve’s knee and pulls it up higher, opening him up nice and wide and anchoring himself against Steve’s weight.

Bucky manages to hold out for a few long minutes before his thrusts go sharp and short and his breaths get ragged. Steve doesn’t seem all that disappointed, though - just wraps a hand around his own cock and pumps it hard, which only makes his insides squeeze tighter around Bucky. His strokes are rough and desperate right from the start, like he’s planning on following Bucky right over the edge. “Don’t you pull out,” he orders through his gritted teeth.

And, oh boy, that does it. Makes Bucky’s head spin, makes his heart hammer like he’s dying, makes his belly tense and his cock swell to fill Steve up a little better. A few more hard thrusts and he’s gone, coming inside Steve and Steve taking it like it’s what he was made to do. He has just enough wherewithal as the shock of his orgasm begins to calm down to  bend forward and palm Steve’s balls as they start to draw up tight, their hands bumping clumsily as Steve keeps working himself over. Bucky presses his sweat-slicked forehead into Steve’s shoulder and feels the muscles going tense underneath him. “Come on, Steve. That’s it, doll,” he smiles against Steve’s overheated skin. He grinds into him, as he deep as he can, and has to laugh with sheer wonder and love when Steve takes the Lord’s name in vain and curls in on himself, letting his come coat both of their hands as he climaxes, every inch of him shaking with the strain of it. Bucky knows that feeling - being inside Steve is better than diamonds and gold, but being filled up like Steve is now, that’s intense. Steve groans as he finally starts to come down from his high, breath hitching up like he’s going to sob.

Bucky lets his leg down carefully. Steve’s dead weight in his hands. He’s waited  _ years _ for this, so he feels like he owes himself the smug expression he’s wearing. He tries to keep it out of his voice as he asks, “Well, did you like it?”

Steve sees right through his little ploy though - he knows when Bucky’s fishing for compliments. He does reward him with a long laugh, though - giddy and stupid and utterly exhausted, as if to say,  _ Well, obviously. _

Bucky settles his chin on Steve’s collar, that cocky smirk on his face growing all on its own. “So, you gonna let me do this again?”

Steve doesn’t waste a moment before he arches back, sliding a little lower on Bucky’s still-oversensitive cock, and says with utter sincerity, “Yeah, yeah--go.”

“Jesus,” Bucky laughs. “Alright,  _ Superman,  _ I’m going to need a few minutes.”

And Steve actually has the gall to look disappointed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Night, kids! Love you all! If this fic tickles your fancy, please remember that I have a comment kink.


	3. Camp on the Border, Saturday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let's sing one last song before we go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've really loved having a little break from my other pieces to do some no-plot wartime Stucky. Thank you so much to Lynn for doing this trade with me! <3

Steve wakes up early on Saturday morning. It takes a good while before he remembers that today is the ninth of December. He’s as warm as he ever was in a Brooklyn June. In his sleep, he’s thrown the heavy blankets off of one half of his body to let the chilly predawn air cool his skin, but Bucky remains tucked against his right side, covers pulled over his ears with his face buried in the crook of Steve’s armpit to keep his nose warm. There’s just enough daylight outside to cast a cold blue glow on the eastern wall of their shelter. He yawns, watching the cloud his breath makes above his head, and pulls Bucky a little closer.

Steve knows Bucky will be stiff as a ramrod even before he shifts against him, pressing warmly against Steve’s hip. He always is, when he first wakes up - Lord knows, Steve has suffered through enough early mornings back at home, laying wide awake next to his sleeping body, heart buzzing in his chest as he stared at his friend _(friend--and that was all)_ , thinking thoughts which would inevitably follow him to church like devils on his shoulder. He’s no better off, himself.

But that was years ago. Now, there’s no need to lie there silent and still, hoping for the impossible. Hell - no need for much propriety at all, in fact. They’re alone in the wilderness with no one to answer to, and what’s more, Bucky had shown himself to be less than a model of rectitude last night, so Steve sets aside both his shame and his decorum and gives his own cock an exploratory caress through the wool blankets, sighing as the rough knit scratches against his sensitive skin. Sleeping side-by-side with Bucky without a scrap of clothing between them was such a rare treat, but it certainly had its consequences; these blankets weren’t light by any means, and yet here he was, holding them up like a tent-pole.

He doesn’t get very far on his own before the movement and rasp of the blankets wakes his bedmate. Bucky sniggers groggily against Steve’s side the moment he realizes what he’s been up to, and slides his hand down the length of Steve’s torso beneath the covers to take over. His grip is sleepy, every stroke slow and gentle and clumsy. And it feels _incredible._

“Goddamn, it’s cold,” Bucky shivers suddenly, fingers dipping lower to cup Steve’s balls (although Steve wonders if he’s not just looking for a warm place for his chilly hand).

“Need to get your blood moving,” Steve replies tauntingly. Bucky had always liked to tell him that on winter days back in New York, every time he had complained. “How about you wrap the blankets around your shoulders and come up here?” he grins suggestively. “I'll bet I can warm you up real fast.”

And _oh,_ Bucky must like the sound of that, because he hauls himself up in an instant. Clutching the blanket around him like a thick cloak, he leaves Steve uncovered and straddles his lap. The insides of his thighs feel strikingly hot where they press against Steve’s hips, pinning him to the ground. Steve gropes around above their bed-roll until he finds the tin of White Rose.

“Jeez, you’re in a hurry,” Bucky laughs, working one hand out of the bundle of blankets to scrape his nails lightly along Steve’s ribs until his nipples are hard and peaked and he's covered in goosebumps.

“Yeah, I guess you could say that,” he smirks, popping the lid off the tin and gathering the cold petroleum jelly on his fingers. “You made it look so nice last night - guess I just got jealous.”

Steve holds the slick in his palm to warm it up for a few seconds before he gives his cock a slow, twisting squeeze, spreading it over the flushed, swollen crown with his thumb. Bucky’s sitting close enough that Steve can feel his cock jump with arousal against the back of his hand as he strokes himself. With his fingers now coated with the excess, he presses them upward into Bucky’s ass, the pad of his middle finger circling his rim. Bucky takes a hold of Steve’s cock before he can stretch him out properly and gives it a few hard, impatient pumps as he positions himself over it.

“Oh no, you don't,” Steve argues. “Come on, baby, you made it so good for me, let me take my time with you.”

“I got it,” Bucky bares his teeth in a smug grin, rubbing the head of Steve’s cock between the slick crease of his thighs. “I’ll take it slow, Steve. I _\--oh, fuck--_ I like it when it burns a little at first.”

“Is that right?” Steve pants as Bucky grips him tighter and reaches behind himself to spread his cheeks out, letting the tip slide in a fraction of an inch. “Mm, Buck--” he gasps. “God, that just about makes you _too_ tight.”

“Ah, you’ll be alright,” Bucky assures him, lifting himself up only to lower his body onto another full inch of Steve’s hard length. “Makes me feel so full, sweetheart. God, you stretch me out so good.”

The blankets fall from Bucky’s shoulders, totally forgotten, and he finally allows Steve to take over steadying the base of his cock. Steve grips himself hard in his left hand and with his right, still covered in lubrication, he gives Bucky a few firm, steady strokes as Bucky takes him in deeper and deeper.

Once he’s halfway there, Bucky’s thighs are starting to shake with the strain of lowering himself so carefully and Steve’s deft hand working him over seems to get him eager and relaxed. Every exhale is _Oh God,_ and _Yes, yes, yes._ The surgical scars on his abdomen stretch and flex with every heavy, ragged breath, but right now Bucky doesn’t seem to remember that they’re even there. Steve can’t help but study them now, though - it’s not often he gets a good look at those scars, and he wants to know them as well as he knows Bucky’s face. He wants Bucky to let him kiss the track marks in the crooks of his arms as readily as he’ll let him kiss his lips and trace his finger over old bullet wounds as easily as he can trace the line of his jaw. He wants to tell him he’s gorgeous without Bucky looking down at the floor like he’s been lied to.

Steve’s not sure whether Bucky’s thighs give out on him or if he just loses his patience, but he takes the home-stretch in one quick slide, hissing through gritted teeth, eyes shut, head thrown back, damp hair clinging to his forehead.

With Bucky’s heat surrounding him completely, squeezing him like that, Steve can’t help but groan. Bucky pushes Steve's hand off his cock and grabs his wrists, setting both of Steve's palms on his thighs and pinning them down insistently, making Steve feel the way his muscles tremble as he rides him. “Oh, you’re so gorgeous,” Steve gives in and tells him, and Bucky looks him in the eye and smiles knowingly, making Steve’s breath catch.

Steve lasts through all of five minutes of Bucky fucking himself on his cock. It’s perfect and it’s intense, but Bucky just can’t bounce quite as fast as Steve knows he could be thrusting into him. The moment he feels himself edging closer to orgasm, he pushes himself up and forward, abdomen straining to lift two bodies, and topples Bucky over onto his back, shoulders hitting the ground with a low thud. As Steve clambers to get his legs underneath him, Bucky practically claws at him, needing him closer, until Steve grips underneath his spread knees, lifts his hips up to meet his cock, and fucks back into him at a brutal new pace.

Bucky doesn’t hesitate for a second once his hands are free and he no longer has to support himself; he takes his own cock in hand, gripping it roughly, keening with need and rubbing his chest like there's not a single pair of eyes on him except his own. He matches his strokes to the quick snap of Steve’s hips and brings himself off just moments later, face and neck flushing a deep, hot red as his insides contract and spasm around Steve. Steve can hardly keep his pace steady as he comes - he reaches his climax before Bucky can even finish his, and Bucky just pulls wave after wave out of him until he can feel the slickness of his own release surrounding his cock.

He has just enough wherewithal left afterward to let Bucky’s legs down gently and reach behind him to grab the twisted covers. Bucky crawls back up to the pillow he’s fashioned from his folded jacket and Steve collapses right beside him, spreading the wool blankets out over them without a word. Beneath it, he takes Bucky into his arms, cradling him against his chest. They fall asleep again before they’ve even caught their breath.

* * *

The sky is brighter when they wake up again, although the sun hasn’t yet climbed above the mountaintops. They wiggle into their cold trousers and venture out into the cold fog to relieve themselves. Bucky is still buttoning up when he dives back into the tent to escape the damp, freezing air, but Steve stays outside with no shirt at all, feeling awfully proud of his own newfound fortitude, and opens up the other bundle of bracken to relight their cooking fire. He warms up a few canned sausages and boils a pot of coffee while Bucky is otherwise occupied - the lantern is burning inside the shelter, casting a silhouette of Bucky’s arm as it rises and falls, stitching the torn shoulder of his coat. Steve can hear him whistling a familiar tune, though he can’t place the name of the song.

The sun breaks over the snowy peaks just as the coffee starts to bubble. They pin back the tent flaps and sit just inside the shelter entrance, enjoying their breakfast and tolerating the bitter coffee, letting it warm them up and energize them. Together, they watch the mist rise from the mountains, the crests of the foothills emerging one by one from the milky fog until the air is clear and the valley reveals its brown and gold and evergreen hues. After they’ve eaten, Bucky digs through the bag where they store their rations and finds some chewing gum and cigarettes he’s hoarded away. He only lights one of the fags up, though, since Steve isn't partial to the brand. Once he’s taken a draw, he passes it off and Steve accepts it grudgingly.

“Golly, do I ever miss Kools,” Steve comments, exhaling with a hum of disappointment.

“Oh, you don’t even _have_ asthma anymore,” Bucky laughs as Steve takes a second hit in spite of his complaints. “You’re a big boy now, you can have the real thing. Anyhow, if you really want one that bad, Gabe’s uncle sends him a carton from home every now and then.”

“Aw, he’ll be sharing them with Peggy, if he shares ‘em at all,” Steve smirks secretively, holding the cigarette to Bucky’s lips to give him a drag, not bothering to hide the way he watches his mouth purse against his fingers.

“You’re kidding me,” Bucky exclaims, voice thick with the smoke in his throat. “Those two?”

“Yeah, but, ah...mum’s the word, alright?” Steve warns. “They don’t want any trouble. Peg’s on my arm whenever she can be any time we get some R&R, since you and I don’t want any trouble either.”

“So, you told her?”

Steve chuckles, flicking ash onto the ground between his feet. “More like she told _me._ She’s sharp as a tack.”

“Aw, come on, she probably heard from Stark. The guy’s a nine dollar bill and a gossip.”

“Oh, he is not. In fact, I’m pretty sure he’s a little sweet on Peggy.”

“Bullshit. Every new suit he makes for you’s tighter than the last. Gives you the up and down every time you try one on for him, too. Stares at you like a hungry wolf, I swear.”

Steve rolls his eyes smilingly, giving Bucky the last draw off their cigarette, letting the cherry burn close to his fingertips before tossing the butt into the fire. “What were you whistling earlier? I know I’ve heard it.”

Bucky has to search his memory, whistling the verse over again as he tries to place it, but Steve recalls it first.

“Oh, wait a minute. It’s from a movie, right? _Sun Valley Serenade._ Had ‘In the Mood’ and ‘Chattanooga Choo Choo’ in it, too. We went to see it with that pair of sisters you liked so much.”

“Right, right. That pair of _twins,”_ Bucky corrects him, sighing fondly.

“I have never seen a man get so starry-eyed over dames so soon after riding a dick, Bucky,” Steve teases, and they collapse against each other in peals of laughter. “Oh, you’re a mess, sweetheart,” he grins.

“What should we do for the rest of the day?”

“How about a whole lot of nothing?”

“Goddamn, I hope that’s an order.”

* * *

_Sunday Afternoon._

Their gear has been repacked, inventoried, and organized. Guns are clean, clothes are mended, socks and boots have dried by the fire, and their tired feet have had a day and a half of rest. Bucky’s trap by the marshes had yielded a few tender young rabbits, so dinner on Saturday night had been quite an affair. They’d gone to bed full and slept like babies. Hardly feels like there’s a war on.

They break camp at 1300, when the sun is high and the day is at its warmest. Bucky goes right back to whistling that old tune as he tears down the shelter, and it’s been running through Steve’s head since he woke up, so he joins in, humming along while they roll up the canvases.

Bucky straightens up to stretch out his back, and Steve catches him in his arms with a wicked grin and takes his hands, swinging them playfully as he sings. “When you smile at me, I hear…” He continues their clumsy dance as he thinks. “Hmmhm, hm,” he giggles out the melody, humming the syllables of the words he can’t remember.

“Gypsy violins?” Bucky guesses.

“Yes!”

“When you smile at me,” the sing together, each happily disregarding the other's key. “I hear gypsy violins. When you’re with--”

 _“--dance_ with--

“When you dance with me, I’m in heaven when the music begins…”

They do alright for a few minutes of simple swaying and shuffling, interrupted frequently by little kisses planted on smiling cheeks and stubble-roughened chins, but Bucky eventually decides to test Steve’s new prowess and give him a spin. Steve begins to turn the wrong way, but feels the resistance of Bucky’s guidance and corrects himself, then second guesses that, too. Finally, Bucky gives up on him and draws him into headlock that feels like an embrace. He pats his cheek teasingly.

“Those scientists made a soldier out of you, Rogers, but when we get home _I’m_  going to make you a dancer.”

“Bucky, when we get home, I’m making _you_ an honest man,” Steve promises fondly, even though he knows he can’t. But their lives have been so full of impossibilities. What’s the harm in hoping for one more?

Bucky gives him a solid slap on the chest and a smile that tries for obliging but ends up only sympathetic. “Uh-huh, right. Don’t I wish.”

“I mean it,” Steve says, shouldering the last of their gear. In the same moment that he realizes that he doesn’t know _how_ he’ll do it, he’s also sure that he _will._ No matter where they have to go, no matter what rules have to be broken - he’ll go before God Himself and ask permission if he’s got to, but Bucky’s his guy and no law of God or man is going to come between them.

Bucky takes out the map and gives it a cursory glance, then checks his compass to find their path. “Alright, pal, we’ll see,” he scoffs and shakes his head. His eyes are pictures of longing as he looks out to the eastern horizon, and there’s a weight of sadness on his brow that wasn’t there a moment ago, though his lips still form a smile. “Why do you say stuff like that, huh?” he asks plaintively. “Shouldn’t get a guy’s hopes up for something that won’t ever happen.”

Steve takes the map from him and clasps his hand meaningfully. “You know why, Buck.”

And Bucky seems to contemplate that, staring first at their joined hands and then lifting his gaze to meet Steve’s. Soon, his eyes are creasing at their laughter lines in a genuine smile, bright and clear once again. “Yeah,” he says. “I do.”

* * *

_"Why do robins sing in December_   
_Long before the springtime is due?_   
_And even though it's snowing, violets are growing_   
_I know why and so do you_   
_Why do breezes sigh every evening_   
_Whispering your name as they do?_   
_And why have I the feeling stars are on my ceiling?_   
_I know why and so do you_   
_When you smile at me, I hear gypsy violins_   
_When you dance with me_   
_I'm in heaven when the music begins_   
_I can see the sun when it's raining_   
_Hiding every cloud from my view_   
_And why do I see rainbows when you're in my arms?  
I know why and so do you."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The End. <3
> 
>  
> 
> [And by the way, here's the lovely song, "I Know Why (And So Do You), if you'd like to listen.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-e2LXzNjYkw)

**Author's Note:**

> Night night, kids. Love you all.


End file.
